


All Is Not Forgiven

by Walabean



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, slight case fic, sweary John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 03:11:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2093478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walabean/pseuds/Walabean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been three years since the resurection, two since John learnt the child Mary carried was not his, and a year and a half since the divorce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Is Not Forgiven

John was angry. No, scratch that John was livid.

  
It has been three years since the resurrection, two since John learnt the child Mary carried was not his, and a year and a half since the divorce.

  
But no John has grieved (again), he has moved on (again) and he is currently trying to get on with his life (yes, again), so none of this explains why John Watson is currently seeing red.

  
John had nearly lost him again tonight.  
Five years previous, he thought he had lost his best friend, his saviour, his...his...well, his Sherlock.

  
He has long since moved back into Baker Street with Sherlock and once more he keeps a memorandum of their crime solving adventures.

  
And tonight the complete idiot, that is currently the worlds only consulting detective, had nearly gotten himself killed (for real this time).

  
He had dived right in, always using that brain of his but never really thinking about consequences before going in head first.  
It was a case, it's always a case.  
This same case that had been on-going for weeks. Both Sherlock and John were starting to crack. The only difference John could see it coming. But as the days went on Sherlock just kept pushing, barely eating, rarely sleeping and becoming more reckless as time passed. John knew it was nearing the point where Sherlock would have to solve it soon or he would reach breaking point.

  
A thirty something male found dead in his sitting room with a bashed in skull, (found by his sister) across from him another male, in his late forties with a stab wound to the chest. Straight through the transversus thoracis muscle, between the fourth and fifth rib, just beneath the heart.  
The flat was locked from the inside with no sign of a forced entry.

  
The two men had been fighting; contusions, a split lip, defense marks.

  
But that was the end of the obvious, there were endless paper trails, blackmail threats and a family's tree worth of relatives all pointing fingers at each other.

  
It was coming into their fourth week on the case.  
Five am on a freezing February morning and Sherlock had been going non-stop for eighteen hours (dragging a reluctant John along behind him) before the confrontation on the rooftop, after that, Lestrade had finally put his foot down and sent the crime solving duo home in a cab.

  
Sherlock knew John was angry, of course he knew. He could practically hear John clenching his jaw on the taxi ride home from Scotland Yard, not to mention the laboured breathing of John trying to keep his temper under control.

  
____________________________________________________

 

  
As soon as the taxi turned into Baker Street and pulled up outside their flat, John had torn open the door before the cab had come to stop, leaving a slightly miffed Sherlock to pay the fare.

  
By the time Sherlock had tossed a handful of twenties to the cabbie and followed John up the stairs, the ex-soldier had not made it very far into the flat; in fact he was standing just in the threshold.

  
As Sherlock turned to hang up his coat and scarf, he was suddenly grabbed by the wrist, spun and pushed up against the wall. John had taken hold of the detective’s lapels and was using them to shove the taller man into the wall.

  
"What. the. fuck. Sherlock? What hell is wrong with you?" John growled into his face.

  
"John I-"

  
"I mean honestly do you really not want to live anymore? Because seriously, I'm starting to think I'm the only one seeing it that way!"

  
"But John he-"

  
"No Sherlock, enough!  
He had a gun. Pointed directly at your skull. Why did you choose then to rile him up? He was going to shoot you!"

  
"But he didn'-"

  
"No thanks to you!"

  
The smaller man reiterated his point by slamming the detective's shoulders against the wall.

  
Sherlock grunted, took a deep breath and pushed out his words before John could interrupt him.

  
"The man was a self-proclaimed 'master hunter', but did you see his hands John? They shook just holding the gun and the strong smelling stains on his jumper from the gun oil he used to clean his piece, I've watched you clean your gun thousands of times and not once have I seen you lose a drop, he was inexperienced with the weapon. That and judging from the state of his nails he was a prolific nail biter. No confidence with the weapon and currently under a lot of stress. One of the men being blackmailed we know. He was making waves and surely his fiancé would leave him if she realised his entire image was a hoax, and the fact that he had lied to her.  
There's no way he would have managed to take the shot, never mind hitting his target."

  
"Sherlock you don't know that! I was in the army, I was a soldier! I know when a man like that is pushed up against a wall he will do anything to escape. You were his 'target' and he had his finger on the trigger for fuck sake!"

  
John had panted out and tugged so hard on Sherlock's lapels that their noses had briefly touched.

  
"John...I..."

  
The pair locked eyes fleetingly before John launched himself at the taller man. Their mouths mashed together in a heated bruising kiss, there was nothing gentle about this kiss, this kiss was messy, all teeth and each fighting for control.

  
The pair now standing so close that the other could feel his heartbeat beating against his chest, John took it upon himself to shove his tongue into Sherlock's suddenly deeply moaning mouth, both instantly aware of the hardness of matching erections between them.

  
John bit down sharply on Sherlock's lower lip, the pair tasting the metallic tang of blood in their kiss.  
The ex-soldier growled deep within his chest as Sherlock mouthed along jaw, down past his clavicle, when suddenly sharp teeth dug into his shoulder so hard John howled.

  
They broke apart, chests touching as both gasped for air. Dark blue eyes searching blue-grey.

  
"...Sherlock?"

  
"God yes, John I need-"

  
John didn't need to be told twice as he sunk heavily to his knees.

  
Tentative hands came to rest in his short sandy hair as he slipped the button through and unzipped Sherlock's suit trousers.

  
The trousers slipped from the detective's slim hips to reveal black silk boxers. His heart beating frantically in his chest, the doctor leaned his face towards Sherlock's groin and mouthed at his erection through the flimsy material. By the time the material was soaked through, the detective was panting and his eyes rolling under their lids.

  
"John...please John, I-."

  
Sherlock looked down just to see the hungry eyes of the doctor crouched at his feet.

  
John made short work of the detective's silken undergarments freeing his erection to bob just at John's mouth height. His tongue flicking out to run along his bottom lip.  
Sherlock's cock was nestled in a thatch of auburn curls; it was long and thin and looked perfectly in place with the rest of the gorgeous man.

  
Now John at this point had seen many a man's penis before, impossible not to during his time serving in the army, not to mention his long medical career. But no this, this was entirely different, simply down to the fact that this was entirely Sherlock, as soon as the good doctor had seen Sherlock's cock, his mouth filled with saliva and his brain the sudden urge to act upon it.

  
So that is exactly what he did.

  
All the anger that had been before had turned into something else, a burning passion, no longer to hurt the detective, but to make him understand why John was so terrified of losing him again.

  
Tentatively, he ghosted a breath along the length of him, breathing in the smell of Sherlock. Spice, expensive soap and a musky smell that was all Sherlock.  
John wrapped his hand around the base of Sherlock's cock, bringing the head closer to his mouth; he flicked his tongue across the slit, the single drop of precome tasting bittersweet.

  
The sudden keening from above him and the tightening of fingers in his hair spurred him on. He ran his tongue along Sherlock's frenulum as he took the head into his mouth.  
In the shadowy pale light of the sitting room Sherlock groaned, a deep rumbling from within his chest.

  
When his breaths were coming in sharp, stuttering pants, and short fingernails scraped across his scalp, the smaller man pulled off with a loud wet pop.

  
The doctor ran his hands into thick curls and tugged, Sherlock's neck arched, just begging to be marked and kissed under John's ministrations. John pulled harder, before the taller man understood, and went to his knees to join John.

  
John ached, the tightness within his own trousers as he became impossibly hard with the sheer need for more. He could feel his own heartbeat pulsing in his throat as Sherlock brushed a kiss against it.

  
Sherlock slipped his hands in under John's jumper, feeling the soft skin beneath his palms, wanting more but stopped by offending soft wool. He tore off the antagonizing item before tossing it to the ground.

  
Finally he could descend John’s bare chest tracing his tongue around his right nipple, when he suddenly bit down, the pain was sharp enough to cause John to gasp and jerk back, toppling over onto his back.

  
Sherlock quickly discarded his trousers and straddled the hips of the smaller man grinding down onto his erection.

  
A throb of desire shot through John, his hips bucking under their own accord as he whispered a litany of, "Oh god, oh god, oh god…"

  
Writhing on the floor, Sherlock twisted his hand down to the zipper of John's jeans.

  
"Off. These off, now"

  
John's jeans were off before Sherlock could formulate another thought, torn off along with John's sensible boxers. Thrown aside to join his knitwear.

  
John watched as the detective licked his palm wet before wrapping it around both their cocks, John joined him as the two began pumping into their circle of fists. Sherlock lowered his head to John's mouth and sucked his lower lip between his teeth, sending a shudder of pleasure through the smaller man's body.

  
"Oh Jesus...Sherlock...Sher...oh please!"

  
John came moments before Sherlock, spurting ribbons of come across their joined hands and his stomach.

  
"Oh oh...J-J-JOHN!"

  
Sherlock soon followed, adding to the sticky pool on John's belly.

  
____________________________________________________

 

  
Time passed as the two lay on the drafty wooden floor of 221b until the come on John's stomach had cooled.

  
Their giggles breaking the silence.

  
"Sherlock, that was...that was ridiculous. What did we just do?"

  
"Oh come now John...I think three-continents-Watson knows _exactly_ what we just did"

  
Through John's giggles he caught Sherlock's smirk before the man schooled his features.

  
"Come on John."

  
John groaned getting to his feet after Sherlock, thinking to himself that he was getting to old for rolling on-floor hi-jinks.

  
Sherlock ran his tongue along his bottom lip flinching slightly from the sting caused by the split lip from John's early administrations. Wait. _Split lip_...

  
"...Oh...OH! Of course! John you brilliant brilliant man!"

  
"Sorry Sherlock, any particular reason for my brilliance this time?"

"Don't you see? Alex! The man with the busted lip?  
They weren't fighting, they were lovers! Stupid. Stupid. All that other stuff! None of it was important.

  
Alex and Edward were in a romantic and sexual relationship. The pair had caused a stir amidst their families, explaining the sudden appearance of so much blackmail! And they say blood is thicker than water"

  
John watched as Sherlock sneered at the mere thought.

  
"Don't you see? They had clearly gotten rough in their intercourse, the busted lip, the contusions, the defence marks; they can all be explained now we know the men were lovers. Alex stumbles backwards; he cracks his head on the fireplace. Edward is distraught. Sentiment. Of course, why didn't I see before. He stabs himself in the heart not wanting to live on without his lover. Leaving the two dead only to be discovered by Alex's sister in the morning. I'll text Lestrade."

  
John coughs and shivers, suddenly realising that he was standing in the middle of their flat with not a stitch covering him. At this point deciding that a long sleep in a comfortable bed is exactly what the doctor ordered. He was about to put voice to this exact thought when-

  
"John?"

  
John scooped the discarded clothes and looked up to catch his detective's eye, it looked as though he had sent the text and was now watching John.

  
"I _am_ sorry."

  
There was a moment’s pause before John dropped the clothes, taking the three strides across the room it took to reach Sherlock. Where he took the taller man's face within his hands and kissed him soundly. This kiss, this was gentle and caring and showed Sherlock exactly what he meant to John. This kiss broke off, but the pair stayed within each other's arms.

  
"Come to bed John."

  
"Oh God yes."

**Author's Note:**

> So there we have it. My very first fanfic, actually this is pretty much the first fiction I have ever written. 
> 
> So thank you so much for reading *blows kisses*
> 
> I have been toying with the idea of writing a Johnlock fanfic for some time now (last October), but the past two days I haven't been able to stop writing this. I may continue to add to this particular universe, who knows? :)
> 
> And a shout out to my lovely Holmies who inspired this work and also Colin for his active participation ;)


End file.
